


Navia Aut Caput

by anr



Category: Standoff
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-15
Updated: 2007-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even you have your limits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Navia Aut Caput

The fourth break up, you decide, is the last one.

Even you have your limits.

  


* * *

  


You say good morning to Cheryl at the coffee machine and the next thing you know you're being escorted into her office and pushed into a chair. When she takes the seat beside you instead of the one behind her desk, you know this is not gonna be pretty.

"So," she says, looking at you way too closely. "Wanna tell me about it?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," you say blandly, and take a mouthful of coffee.

Cheryl leans back and crosses her arms; doesn't stop staring. "Right."

"Right." With a nod, you stand and move towards the door, relieved when she makes no effort to stop you. "Great chat, Boss. Thanks."

Her, "anytime," follows you all the way to your desk.

  


* * *

  


Emily walks in, smiles hello, sits down, turns on her computer and gets to work.

You breathe.

  


* * *

  


You go to make yourself a coffee and Emily follows you.

"Are you okay?" she asks, fingering a packet of sweetener.

You nod. "Great. You?"

"Great."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

She walks away first.

  


* * *

  


Frank finds you in the shooting range, emptying clips into select pages from the official _Crisis Negotiation Training Guide_.

"I could take her out for you," he says conversationally, examining the remains of page thirty-six, paragraph seven. "Make it look like an accident."

You reset the target and fire six shots in rapid succession, eliminating the byline. "I'll get back to you."

  


* * *

  


You eat your lunch at your desk and catch up on paperwork.

Emily leans over to steal a pen and her arm brushes yours in the process. When she moves away again, you study her reflection in your computer screen; commit the curve of her cheekbone, the fall of her hair, the way she taps your pen against her lip, to memory.

You decide to go for a walk.

  


* * *

  


Emily calls before you've even cleared the block.

"There's a situation in Burbank."

You're already walking back. "I'll meet you in the garage."

  


* * *

  


Four hours, two HT's, a dozen tourists, assorted Studio staff, crew, and a guy in a Tweety Bird costume later, Cheryl congratulates you all on a job well done and promises to buy the first round at Sloane's.

Once there, you and Emily sit side by side at the bar, the rest of the guys crowded around you. Her thigh is warm against yours; when she laughs at the story Duff is telling, you can feel it.

You leave before the second round.

  


* * *

  


Walking to your car, you pretend you can't hear your cell ringing. It's harder than you would have thought.

You drive the long way home -- need all the miles you can find between here and there to clear your head -- but when you pull up, your house is dark, empty. You keep driving.

  


* * *

  


Emily answers her door with a quizzical look. "Matt? Why are you --"

You're kissing her before she can finish. Your arm slides around her waist, fingers slipping under the edge of her shirt, pulling her in close even as you step forward into her apartment. She meets you halfway, wrists linking behind your head, and when you kick the door shut, she backs you up against it.

The kiss turns wet, messy, _desperate_ ; you can't get enough of her. You push away from the door and walk her backwards towards her couch, twisting at the last moment so that it's you falling and her landing on top of you. Her hands are on your shoulders, fingers twisting the fabric of your shirt, and when you slide your palm down to cup her ass, she grinds against you, making you groan.

You tug off her shirt and unfasten her bra while she works on your belt, your zipper. Your limbs don't tangle nearly as much as they could; _practice_ , you think. When you sit up so that she can push your shirt off your shoulders, your hand slips into the front of her jeans and underwear. She's already wet and you slide a finger into her heat, loving the way she shudders and nips at your neck in response.

"Jesus," she breathes out, bucking against your hand. "Matt --"

You stroke her and she closes her eyes, her forehead pressed against yours, her breathing harsh. For one long, breathless moment there is no movement except for your hand, and her hips, and you drop a kiss on the tip of her nose, smiling.

Then she's moving again, retaliating. You help her shimmy out of her jeans, kick away your own, and you're kissing her when she wraps her fingers around your dick.

Your lips break from hers as you groan out an approximation of her name.

She grins, beautiful and hot and all yours, right in this moment, and then she's shifting and your hands are running up and down her sides, skimming the curve of her breasts before settling on her waist as she guides you into her.

"Em," you say against her mouth, "Em, god, _love_ ," and she braces her hands on your chest as she starts to move.

  


* * *

  


Afterwards, you mindlessly trail your fingers along her spine, press kisses to the crown of her head. Her breath tickles just a little where it whispers across your collarbone.

When she shifts she doesn't go far, just lifts herself up enough to stare up at you, her chin on your chest. "Explain."

"Hmm?" You bring up a hand to play with her hair, pushing it back off her shoulder.

"You!" She pinches your side playfully. "You've been acting like Frank ran over your kitten or something all day and --"

"I don't want us to break up again," you say, cutting her off.

Her eyes widen. "Okay..."

"I mean it."

She nods, clearly baffled. "And I believe you," she says. "But, Matt, what --" She stops herself this time, blinks twice, and then raises herself up even further, her arms bracketing your head as she leans over you. "Wait, is this about _last night_?"

You refuse to answer that question on the basis that you will no doubt appear stupid.

She starts to smile. "Matt --"

"I know."

"It was a _game_."

"I know."

"It wasn't even _serious_. I mean, did I go to work naked today? Did you? None of those tosses were --"

You lean up and kiss her before she can really get started. "I _know_ , okay?" you say, "but, I don't know, it got me thinking and --"

Her smile fades. "Thinking as in -- it _should_ have been serious?"

"Yeah, but not about that."

She frowns. "Then what --"

Her hair's fallen forward again; you brush it back and keep your hand on her cheek, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. "I think we should move in together."

"Move in together," she repeats.

"Yes."

"As in --" She waves a hand aimlessly. "This. What we already have but -- full time? Permanent?"

"Yeah." She's biting her lip and you find yourself suddenly, uncomfortably, unsure. Like you were this morning, when you remembered the way you'd both laughingly decided to see if a coin toss should end your relationship. It bothers you more than you like how casual you both were about it. "You know what?" You pull your hands back and start shifting to get up. "We don't have to. It was just --"

She moves a hand to the middle of your chest and shoves, pinning you. "Where?"

"Where?" Your hand covers hers on your chest.

"Yeah. Where. Portugal or France?"

"Neither," you say, somewhat reassured. "Somewhere new. Our own place."

"Neutral territory." Her hand turns so that her fingers can tangle with yours.

"Right."

"So..." She raises an eyebrow. "Switzerland?"

You smile. "I was thinking somewhere warmer. Maybe Spain?"

"I like Greece."

Always the negotiator. "So is that a yes?"

She pauses -- and your chest is suddenly too tight, like your internal organs are in a vice, like you can't breathe -- and then grins, bright and playful. "Do you agree to Greece?"

You breathe out in a rush. "No," you say, smiling, and she laughs and grabs you, rolling you both off her couch and onto the floor.

"Then yes," she says, breathless and laughing still, "yes."

You prop yourself up so that you're not crushing her quite so badly and kiss her. "I love you."

She touches your face, kisses you back. "Me too," she says, and then raises an eyebrow. "How about Austria?"

You laugh and drop your forehead to hers; kiss her again for time. When you come up for air, you counter with, "Morocco?"

"Russia."

"Italy."

"You know," she says, curling her leg up and around your hip, a mischievous smile on her lips. "We could always flip for it."

_Right_ , you think, _because there's no way_ that _could backfire_.

She drags her nails across your nape.

_Of course, on the other hand..._

You grin. "Heads."

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/281024.html>


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